


The Milestone Series: Year One

by Aggie2011



Series: Vantage Point Universe [10]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, No Slash, Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggie2011/pseuds/Aggie2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been one year since Coulson had kicked his ass across that alley in Vienna and given him a chance at a new beginning. Clint and Coulson celebrate Clint's first anniversary at SHIELD. One-shot! *Vantage Point Universe* NO SLASH*Pre-Avengers*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Milestone Series: Year One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> This is the first in a series of one-shots in my "Vantage Point Universe", which is an Avengers universe centered around the character Clint Barton. It has several completed stories already. If you're curious, head over to my profile page to see what's what :) To catch you up, here is a brief summary of the universe as I've created it so far: 
> 
> Clint Barton worked as a contract assassin for a year when he was 17, and when he was 18, he was recruited by Phil Coulson into SHIELD. After that, Phil worked patiently and tirelessly to gain Clint's trust and eventually the two formed a deep bond of trust that became the basis for the brotherhood the two would share for the next nine years until Phil was killed. Several years after coming to SHIELD, Clint and Phil were in Croatia to thwart an assassination attempt and Clint ended up taking a bullet that was meant for Phil. After a three month recovery, Clint's first mission back in the field was a protection detail in Paris. It was on that mission that he identified the notorious "Black Widow" (Natasha Romanoff) and was ultimately sent to kill her. Instead, he went against orders and recruited her. The two assassins were officially partnered a year later, and would work together for the following two years. A mission in Vietnam changed the nature of Barton and Romanoff's partnership when the two began a romantic relationship during the events of that mission. Director Fury subsequently split up their partnership, claiming it was for other reasons. The events of their mission in Budapest were nearly deadly for both assassins and a subsequent attack on the New York SHIELD base taught Clint a hard lesson about revenge and about the sins of the past.
> 
> After the events of "The Avengers", Clint Barton struggled to deal with the death of his handler and the return of a former Army unit mate with a thirst for revenge. Clint eventually started to build relationships with his team mates, and eventually built a solid friendship with Tony during the disastrous events of a mission in South Africa. Months later, after Natasha was reported killed in action, Clint temporarily left SHIELD to seek revenge.
> 
> This is the first in what will be a series of one-shots chronicling Clint's yearly anniversaries since he joined SHIELD.

_The remarkable thing is that it is the crowded life that is most easily remembered. A life full of turns, achievements, disappointments, surprises, and crises is a life full of landmarks. The empty life has even its few details blurred, and cannot be remembered with certainty._

**_Eric Hoffer_ **

* * *

Clint shifted, blinking his way into awareness abruptly, some internal timer informing him it was time to wake up. He stretched, extending his legs until they were perfectly straight all the way down to his toes and pushing his arms out ahead of him, flexing his fingers slightly. With a sigh, he relaxed out of the stretch, curling his arms back around his pillow and burying his face in it.

He gave himself a moment just to lie there, mentally preparing himself for the day and cataloguing the quality of the sleep he'd gotten. Today marked the sixth straight day he'd slept through the entire night, no dreams even vaguely pushing their way into his subconscious. It also marked seventeen nights since the last time he dreamed of one of the names in his ledger. It wasn't a long stretch by any measure, but it was the longest yet.

He still remembered a time before SHIELD, before Phil, that he dreamed of one of those names every night for days at a time. So much had changed since that day a man in a suit had kicked his ass across an alley in Vienna. A man he later came to trust and depend on in a way he'd never trusted and depended on anybody except his parents, who died when he was six. He'd never even really trusted and depended on Barney like he did Phil. Maybe he'd sensed it, even back then, even when he was just a little kid that Barney would one day betray him. That Barney would always look out for himself first.

Clint blinked suddenly, realizing what the date was.

July 12, 2004

Exactly one year since that day in Vienna. Exactly one year since he'd nearly been killed by a gang of Hungarians, who were actually Germans claiming to be Hungarians. He shook his head, remembering Akos and the asshole's failed attempt to double cross and kill him. Exactly one year since Phil Coulson had cornered him in an alley; moments after Clint had defeated the last of his attackers, and offered him a chance at a new beginning.

Of course Clint hadn't been  _entirely_  receptive at first.

He'd tried to take Coulson down and only succeeded in getting his ass firmly kicked by the man, though Clint still sometimes claimed it was because he'd been shot in his altercation with the Hungarians.

He usually made that claim under his breath though.

Coulson could  _still_  kick his ass if he had a mind to.

Clint found himself smiling and shook his head, kicking down his blankets. Then he shimmied forward and removed the vent cover for the air duct he was sleeping in. Phil knew he slept in here and Phil knew that he knew that Phil knew. But the man never questioned it. He wordlessly accepted that Clint chose to sleep under a pile of blankets in an air duct rather than in one of the four beds of the bunkroom he was assigned.

Most field agents shared a room with three others in their unit, Clint didn't have a unit. He was a solo operative and was also well established loner. His former bunkmates had requested bunk transfers a month into Clint's original training.

Clint hadn't minded. He liked it better when he was alone. But he had to admit, it felt like a waste, using an entire bunkroom for just him. And it reminded him of his prison stint, short or not, it had made an impression. Maybe it was the grey walls or maybe the bunk beds, but the room just felt familiar in a bad way.

He climbed out of the air duct and replaced the cover. Then he jumped to the floor from the bunk he'd climbed out onto and started rooting through a pile of clothes on one of the beds. He pulled out a t-shirt with a SHIELD logo on the front and his last name printed across the shoulders. He sniffed it, shrugged and pulled it on.

He retrieved a pair of athletic shorts in the same fashion and then pulled on his running shoes. He and Phil had taken to going for a two mile jog every morning before they trained. It wasn't very taxing for Clint, given that he ran fifteen miles daily during his general training with Agent Bryan. But it was a good opportunity to clear his head if he'd had a bad night. And if he hadn't, it was a relaxing beginning to the day spent chatting with his handler about random topics. Never about work. Their morning runs were strictly work free. Clint loved the runs, loved that for the fifteen minutes it took he and Coulson to make the jog; he could do it much quicker, but that was Coulson's best speed; he didn't have to think about anything but the current conversation.

Clint was smiling again as he headed to the training room. A glance at his watch told him it was two minutes till 4 in the morning. He jogged the rest of the way to the exit, pushing his way out into the outdoor training area just as his watch hit the hour.

He only barely got his hands up in time to catch the blue Gatorade headed at his face.

"Hey! Give a guy a little warning before you hurl things at his head," Clint reprimanded, though the laugh in his voice took all the heat out of it.

"I knew you'd catch it," Phil defended with a careless shrug.

"That's," Clint shook his head with slight scoff of disbelief, " _so_  not the point."

"I was right, wasn't I?"

"Again," Clint unscrewed the top and took a quick drink, " _not_  the point."

"Ready?" Coulson asked, smirking at Clint's eye roll when he ignored the younger man's complaint.

"Ready to leave your old ass in the dust," Clint smiled, closing up his Gatorade and setting it on a bench on next to the door.

"Give it your best shot, rookie," Coulson shot back.

Clint laughed and together they walked to the track, moving into a nearly synchronized jog as they reached it.

"So," Phil asked casually, "good night?"

"Yeah, didn't wake up at all," Clint replied easily.

"Any dreams at all?"

"Not that I remember."

"That makes six nights. That's awesome, Clint."

"You're telling me," Clint huffed a light laugh.

They fell into a companionable silence and Clint found himself wondering if Coulson knew what today was and if he did, whether or not the man would acknowledge it.

"I heard about this new place that just opened in the city that's supposed to have really good authentic Italian food."

Clint's thoughts immediately shifted away from the date and onto the prospect of food.

"Is it place that just opened on 27th?" he asked curiously.

"I knew you'd have heard of it," Coulson smiled.

They continued on their jog, talking about the prospect of trying the new restaurant and debating whether it could ever be as good as eating Italian food  _in_  Italy. By the time they finished their jog and headed inside to start their sparring session, Clint had concluded that Coulson wasn't going to acknowledge the milestone that the day was and decided that it was probably due to the fact that he hadn't officially accepted the job offer until three days later.

He'd also convinced himself he didn't care that Coulson hadn't brought it up. Not even in passing.

* * *

"Damn, Barton," Agent Todd Bryan couldn't hold back a proud smile, even as he forced the nineteen year old to disengage from the lethal hold he had another agent trapped in. "What's Coulson been feeding you?"

Clint allowed himself a smirk as Agent Bryan pulled the other agent off the training mat, only to have to steady him when he wavered. He pushed himself up easily and moved to the edge of the training mat as Bryan motioned two other agents onto the mat.

The lead trainer came to stand next to Clint, watching the ensuing sparring match closely.

"We might need to talk to Phil about pulling you from general training sometime soon," Agent Bryan commented easily.

"Why's that?" Clint asked distractedly, as he internally coached one of the sparring agents, shaking his head when he made a silly mistake.

"Because you outclass all of these guys on the mat," Bryan replied immediately. "Whatever he's been teaching you, it plays to your strengths in a remarkable way. It's been what, just about a year now, since he brought you in?"

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but Bryan went on before he could.

"It'll be a year in three days, right? Damn, you could kick your fair share of ass back then too, kid. A few more months and I can't, in good conscience, put you on a sparring mat with any of these guys. Jackson, keep your hands up," Bryan shouted at one of the agents.

Clint remained silent, contemplating what Agent Bryan was telling him.

"Besides, I've almost taught you everything I can. A few more months and it'll just be holding you back to keep you with the general pop. Damn it Allen, what the hell was that?" Bryan moved onto the mat and left Clint to quietly mull over his words.

His fighting skills had markedly improved in the year he'd been at SHIELD, a fact owed entirely to Phil. The man had patiently coached Clint through bouts of rebellion, a near emotional breakdown, and Clint's own inherent stubbornness. He'd taught Clint to use his most valuable asset in a fight, his speed, to his advantage.

Even Phil had a hard time landing a hit these days.

Clint had won every sparring match in general training for the past ten months. He'd been  _decidedly_  and  _easily_  winning them for the past eight. He'd caused a his fair share of concussions, dislocated a dozen shoulders, broken six ribs, one arm and fractured a sternum in that time. Maybe Agent Bryan was right and he shouldn't spar with these guys anymore.

"Alright, hit the track boys!" Agent Bryan ordered.

Clint and the others obediently headed for the stairs that would lead them up a level to the indoor track. From that point on, Clint didn't focus on anything but beating his time from yesterday.

* * *

Phil moved out into the training room, looking up at the track and turning to scan the runners. He found Clint easily, separated from the others, no doubt at least a lap or two ahead, lost in his own head and focused on nothing but improving his time.

"Phil? What brings you here? Decided to slum it for the day?" Agent Bryan laughed in greeting, holding out a hand.

Phil shook it readily.

"I figure I need to show my face every now and then so you guys don't forget about me," Coulson replied easily. He raised his eyes to Clint again, making good time around the track. "How'd he do today?"

"I didn't send anybody to the infirmary," Bryan smirked. "If that's what you were asking."

"It wasn't, but that's good to know." Coulson smiled slightly.

"He did about the same as usual. It's getting easier for him every day. We need to talk about maybe altering his training schedule in the next few months."

Coulson nodded, he'd already been thinking the same thing.

"His next evaluation is in four months. I can't even start the paperwork to get clearance to start phasing him out of general training until then."

Agent Bryan nodded. He could keep the rest of his guys alive for four more months. They'd just make sure sparring was the first thing they phased Barton out of.

"So you've already looked into it?"

"General training is rapidly becoming less and less challenging for him. I wish I could just pull him completely right now, but protocol doesn't allow it."

Agent Bryan nodded. He understood Phil's frustration. Training changes like what they were talking about required paperwork and approvals and justifications and were only considered if the results of the agent's semi-annual evaluations dictated a change was needed. And then if it  _was_  approved, the agent couldn't just be pulled completely. He had to be phased out, one training exercise at a time. Bryan, the lead trainer, didn't even understand that. He had a standing petition to the governing Council of SHIELD to get that changed.

"How far into his run is he?" Coulson asked suddenly.

"About forty minutes."

"Mind if I pull him early?"

Bryan eyed him curiously. The only time Phil had ever pulled Barton from training early was if a mission had come up.

"He got an assignment?"

"No, nothing like that."

Bryan narrowed his eyes.

"You know how much I want to ask, right?"

Coulson smirked.

"Fine, take him. You're a cruel, cruel man, Phil." Bryan shook his head and brought his whistle to his lips. He let out one loud, sharp tweet. "Barton! Front and center!"

Phil watched Clint jog to a stop and lean over the rail to look down at them.

"You got lead in your ass?" Bryan shouted.

Clint waved him off and Phil could imagine the look the teen would be sporting as he turned and jogged to the stairs. He was in front of them a few moments later, breathing a little heavily with sweat dripping down his temples.

"What's up?"

"You've caught early release," Bryan jerked his thumb at Coulson.

Clint arched an eyebrow at his handler in question.

"Get showered and meet me in hall 9."

Clint only spent a moment more staring at Coulson in speculative confusion before he shrugged and headed towards the showers, muttering something about having been on pace to beat his run time.

* * *

"What are we doing here?" Clint asked as he followed Coulson down hall 9, his hair still wet from his shower. "If this is about that incident with the vent on the outer wall, that wasn't really my fault."

Coulson stopped and looked at him.

" _What_  incident with the vent on the outer wall?"

Clint blinked innocently.

"Nothing."

Coulson's eyes narrowed.

Clint gave him his most innocent expression, which only told Coulson that he probably didn't really want to know what had happened. If Clint hadn't gotten in trouble yet, it was likely that he wouldn't. So Coulson let it go, turned and started walking again. Clint followed, blowing out a relieved, but silent, breath.

They stopped in front of a closed door.

"That's a  _nice_  door, Phil. Nicer than any door anywhere in the world. Thank you so much for sharing this with me."

"Put your hand on the scanner, smart ass," Phil shot him a sideways glare.

Clint smirked.

"It's not going to electrocute me is it?" he asked as he obediently raised his hand and pressed it against the palm scanner. They waited as the device scanned his handprint, highlighted his fingerprints and defining palm characteristics. The screen flashed green and the words 'Clint Barton' appeared on the screen. Clint's eyebrows rose when he heard the lock for the door click open.

"What's going on?"

"Just open the door, Clint."

Clint gave him a suspicious glare and pushed the door open, stepping into the room. He stood just inside the door and glanced around. There was a dresser, a single queen sized bed, a large window on the back wall, a door that looked like it probably led to a closet, and an open door that showed a bathroom beyond it.

"I know it's not as big as your current bunk room, but if you want it, this can be your room," Phil explained as he stepped up next to him.

"My room?"

"Yes."

Clint looked around again, his eyes going to the ceiling. He didn't immediately see any vent access. He felt a tap on his arm and looked at Phil, who pointed up and behind them. Clint followed the finger, seeing a large vent cover in the corner of the ceiling at the intersection of the wall the door was on and the left wall.

Clint couldn't help but let his lips quirk up in a slight grin. He lowered his eyes back to his handler.

"Why now?"

"You didn't think I forgot what today was, did you?" Coulson smiled warmly. "Consider it a gift to celebrate your first year at SHIELD."

Clint was smiling before he even realized it.

"I thought my official recruitment date was in three days."

Coulson waved a dismissing hand.

"We both know today was the day that really mattered."

Clint's smile widened and he looked away to hide the sudden moisture in his eyes. Phil had remembered.  _Of course_  he had. He was Phil Coulson, SHIELD's top agent and as far as Clint was concerned, the best handler he could ever hope for. The man had an uncanny way of knowing  _exactly_  what he needed exactly when he needed it.

"So you want the room?"

"Yeah I want the room," Clint grinned, walking further into the space, running his hand along the top of the dresser.

"You actually going to use that? Now that you don't have three other beds to store your clothes on?"

Clint laughed.

"We'll have to see about that. I don't think I've had one of these since before my parents died."

"Really?" Phil frowned.

"Well at the circus we lived out of trunks. I had a footlocker or a duffle in the army. I lived out of my pack when I worked contracts, and as you pointed out, I've had three empty beds to use until now."

"Your parents died when you were six?" Coulson asked carefully, keeping his voice calm and soothing. Clint was touchy about his parents, didn't often like to talk about them. But something was niggling in Coulson's mind.

"Yeah," Clint answered, very deliberately not looking up from his inspection of the top blanket on his new bed.

"You joined the circus when you were ten?"

"Yeah," Clint glanced at him now, his gaze curious about the line of questioning.

"What about the four years between? No dresser then?" Phil asked the question very carefully. He'd tried several times over the last year to get Clint to tell him about his time in the orphanage that had put the scars on his back. Clint was an expert at deflecting the conversation to other things.

Clint's gaze shuttered and he looked away, moving back to the dresser and pretending to inspect the smooth top of it.

"No, no dresser then," he answered quietly.

Phil watched his agent's eyes skirt up to the vent cover briefly.

"Why do you sleep in the air ducts, Clint?"

And just like that, the question was out there for the first time. It had burned at Phil's lips for months waiting until the right time to ask.

Clint was silent for several moments, rubbing his thumb across a discoloration on the dresser top. Phil was becoming increasingly certain his agent wasn't going to answer. Probably without even realizing it, Clint's shoulders had hunched defensively.

Then, unpredictably, Clint shot a brief glance at him and spoke.

"I didn't sleep in air ducts there. I slept in the rafters of the barn next to the house."

Coulson stared, not sure if he should say anything or not.

"It was the only way I could sleep and know I would be safe." Clint raised his eyes back to the vent. "He couldn't climb up there, no one could. No one but me."

"Who couldn't climb up there?"

"Phillip Jacobs, proud proprietor of the Waverly Home for Boys."

Coulson frowned. Clint spoke every word of that sentence with more hate than Coulson had ever heard from him.

"Is he the one that put those scars on your back?"

Clint's jaw muscle jumped and twitched as he clenched it tightly. It was all the answer Coulson needed.

"Barney protected me when he could, but somehow I'd gotten Jacobs' attention from the very beginning and Barney was around less and less, dealing with our parents' death in his own way I guess,"

Phil didn't say what he was thinking. Didn't say that it sounded like  _that_  was the beginning of Barney's betrayal of his little brother. Didn't say that a  _real_  older brother would never have let him out of his sight if he knew Clint was being hurt by Jacobs.

"But he always stopped it when he was there. Always told me to stop crying, because only babies cried and I couldn't be a baby anymore."

Phil clenched his jaw because Clint  _had_ been a baby. He'd been a six year old little boy.

"I was seven the first time I climbed up into the rafters. I promised myself that night, when I realized that Jacobs couldn't get to me, that I wasn't going to ever be weak again. I wasn't going to be a baby anymore. I was going to start looking out for myself."

"So you slept in the rafters of the barn," Phil surmised.

"Every night for the next three years," Clint nodded. "And I would run there when he came after me during the day too. I couldn't always get away, but it was better than it had been."

"Do you sleep in the vents now because it's the only way you know you're safe?"

Phil hoped that wasn't it. Hoped that Clint didn't feel like he was in danger  _here_ , at SHIELD, where he was supposed to be the safest.

"At first," Clint shrugged. "But then it just became a habit I guess. And I guess I might be afraid of moving backwards."

"With your dreams," Coulson surmised knowingly. Clint nodded.

"Stupid, huh?"

"No," Phil shook his head. They stood in silence, both thinking. "What if I slept on the floor in here tonight? If you start dreaming, I'll wake you up."

Clint blinked at him.

"You need to feel safe here, Clint. If this is what it takes, I'd say give it a shot. If it doesn't work, I'll move your blankets into the air duct myself."

Clint stared at him for a long moment before nodding slowly.

* * *

It took four nights before Coulson didn't have to wake Clint from a nightmare. On the fifth night, he slept through the entire night and then did it again on the sixth. On the seventh night, he dreamed and was knocking on Coulson's door less than three minutes later. On the eighth night he slept through the night without Coulson there.

On the ninth night, Phillip Jacobs was found dead in an alley in Des Moines, Iowa. He appeared to have been beaten and ultimately shot twice in the head.

On the tenth morning, Clint laid in bed at 4:45 in the morning, realizing Coulson had given him more than a room for Clint's first anniversary at SHIELD. He also realized that he hadn't done anything for the agent in return. He wouldn't learn about Phillip Jacobs for another year.

On the tenth morning, Phil Coulson was waiting at the outdoor track at 4:59 in the morning, flexing his sore hands and frowning at his bruised knuckles. He realized, as Clint pushed his way through the door, and Phil threw a Gatorade at his head, that Clint may have given him the greatest gift since the day he'd handed Phil his ledger six months ago. He'd trusted him with another important part of his story. He'd let Phil a little farther into his world.

Phil couldn't have asked for a better gift to celebrate Clint's first anniversary.

* * *

_End of Year One_

_These will be posted as individual one shots, NOT one story. So look for Year Two to go up in the next couple days and so on :) I've written all the years of the Milestone Series already so I hope to get them posted for you guys in a timely fashion._

_I LOVE comments! Many of you know this...people that are new to my stories...I'm an addicted to them, like seriously addicted ;D_


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